The Death Card
by QuirkyFlattery
Summary: Jack Wilder's version of Now You See Me. Seeing through his eyes, you experience his initiation into the Eye, his adventure in France, his FBI interrogation, his obsession with Fruit Ninja, his friendship (or more?) with Jasmine Tressler, and his break in to the morgue to steal a corpse. If the movie was in his point of view, this would be it.
1. The Decision

"Hey, the show's on right now!" Ben, my younger brother, said as he ran into the den. Our older brother, David, and I were watching the football game on the TV. I don't really care for football, but I was bored and didn't want to argue with David.

"Yeah? Let's change the channel," David replied. He did nothing.

The room was dark and the only light came from the TV. I could see the floor was littered with game controllers and DVDs. The couch took up most of the room and the TV took up most of the wall.

"Please?" Ben asked.

No response, but that was expected; the only way to persuade David was to have something he wanted. Ben knew that. He ran off and came back with five dollars.

"David, I'll give you five bucks to leave so I can watch 'Magicians'," He said with a disappointed tone, holding out the bill.

That got David's attention; he snatched the bill, pocketing it. "Nice work, Ben. I guess I'll just watch the game in my room."

As he pushed past me to leave, I swiped the bill from his pocket, regaining what was Ben's. It wasn't fair for him to keep that money.

Ben plopped down on the couch next to me and flipped to the channel. I didn't usually watch TV with Ben, but what else was I going to do on a Sunday night? We had already missed five minutes. The host was talking to the magician, who was kind of young. He was introduced as J. Daniel Atlas. The skinny man was dressed up a tux, but that was the only neat thing about him. He had really messy dark hair with a thin face and prominent nose. As soon as he started his card tricks, I became engrossed. There was something about the carefree way he handled the cards. It was like he could tell where each card was at any given moment. I hung on the guy's every word and movement. This guy was really good. Atlas' illusions eluded me and I needed to figure out how he did it.

During the commercial break, I noticed that Ben had popcorn.

"Man, when did you get popcorn?"

"Like, ten minutes in. I asked if you wanted any, but you didn't say anything."

"Oh," I said, I took out his money. "This is yours," I handed it to him. Ben's eyes grew wide.

"How did you get that?" He asked in amazement.

"I took it as he was getting up."

Ben smiled. "Nice!" He gave me a high-five.

That was the first time, but not the last. I decided then and there that I could do that for people. I could be like Daniel Atlas; I could use illusions and tricks to entertain, amaze, and get a little justice on the side. Becoming famous wouldn't hurt either.

For the next few years of my high school career, nothing else mattered but becoming as good as I could. I tried card tricks, coins, rings, and pretty much any other equipment I could get my hands on. I practiced with card tricks under the desks at school. I practiced more than I did homework, but my parents wouldn't let my grades slip below a B-. I would tell my mom and dad that I knew what I was going to do; I was going to be a magician. My parents laughed and Dad ruffled my hair, saying that I still had plenty of time to decide.

However, I had already decided. I graduated and didn't go to college. My mom, mostly, wasn't happy with my decision, saying I'd never make any money. Trying to convince me, she challenged me to move out and try to live with my career choice. I guess she was right about the money factor, I'm kind of broke, but there's hope for me yet.


	2. The Spoon

"Ladies and gentlemen, I am the next great magician, and I will give one hundred dollars to anyone who can tell me how this trick is done." At the mention of money, a few people turn around.

I jumped a touring boat on the East River after lunch at the deli. I climbed to the top level, where the wind hardly touched my short hair. Tourists are easy to trick and I knew it wouldn't be hard to entertain them. It would be good practice, if nothing else. But, now I had their attention.

"I have an ordinary spoon from Mel's Deli right here in Brooklyn. Check it out." I hold up the spoon and tap it against the railing. People stand up to see and pretty soon there's a crowd around me next to the stairs.

I shake out my hands; I'm getting ready. I raise the spoon so it's eye level. "Now, everyone, please pay very, very close attention because I'm about to bend this spoon with my mind." I pinch the spoon around the throat in my right hand. I slowly make it bend; holding out my left hand like I'm twisting it from a distance. Once it's reached a 90 degree angle, I hold it up for all to see. Most everyone looks impressed and hesitant applause grows more confident. I smile.

"Thank you, thank you. Pass that around." I hand it off. A nerdy-looking guy with thick glasses, dark curly hair, and a plaid tie makes his way to the front of the crowd.

"What's this?" Nerdy Glasses asks, pulling at my sleeve. Shit. He takes the spoon from the back pocket of my jeans.

This guy obviously knows how this trick works. I don't actually have the hundred; I'll have to improvise.

"What are you doing, man?" I demand, grabbing his wrist. That's when I slip off Nerdy Glasses' watch. He doesn't notice.

He pulls the other spoon out of the sleeve of my leather jacket. "Look at this," Nerdy Glasses announces, turning to show the crowd what he found. "Looks like we have a spoon and a stem." The crowd moans.

Defensively, I say quickly, "I've got other tricks," He's a little too close, so I slip his black leather wallet out of his jacket and into mine. He doesn't notice.

"Or you could give me my hundred bucks," Nerdy Glasses insists.

A guy in the audience chimes in, "You said you would."

I sigh and take out Nerdy Glasses' wallet and fumble around for the cash.

Nerdy Glasses remarks, "Nice wallet," with a smirk. I ignore it.

"You have a very good eye, sir," I say, acting defeated, and hand him the hundred. It takes all I have not to get too excited. This guy has way too much cash on hand. I tuck the wallet inside my jacket and take the stairs, pushing through the tourists on my way off the boat. The boat is just leaving again; I jump the distance between the boat and the dock.

"Stop that guy!" I can hear him yell from the top of the boat. I keep walking quickly, like the commotion had nothing to do with me. "Stop that guy in the leather jacket! He's got my wallet!" The line of waiting boating tourists makes no move to stop me.

Okay, first thing to do with a stolen wallet: get rid of the ID and credit cards. Keep the cash. Best way to get rid of something quickly: throw it in the river.

After I walk a few blocks along the edge of the river, I get down to the water and count my earnings. Nerdy Glasses kept his money in tens. I got sixty bucks even after I gave him the hundred. I carelessly toss the wallet into the water.

I check all my pockets and I'm surprised to find something I didn't know I had. There's a card in the back pocket of my jeans. The front looks kind of like a Tarot card that clearly spells 'death' and has a picture of a human skull with a grotesque red background. Shit, that's not a good sign. I flip it over and there's an eye symbol. Underneath the image, it says, 'March 29, 4:44 pm. 45 East Evan Street, NY, NY.' I let out a soft, nervous laugh. Two days from now, I guess.

No way Nerdy Glasses could've planted the card; he was no sleight. It must've been a passenger. But, who could escape my notice?


	3. The Apartment

I'm going to be late; I know it. I didn't want to waste money on a cab, so I took the bus. And the bus, as always, was late. I sit in the middle, near the window, right across from the door, with my black messenger bag on my lap. The plastic blue seats face forward on my side, inward on the opposite side. There's a faint smell of urine, which I've gotten used to. Thankfully, the window next to me isn't too smudged and I can look outside.

Some days, like today, I look out the window and try to notice everything. I've lived in Brooklyn my whole life and there's always something new to see. Like, watching the way people go about their lives. As the bus stops at an intersection, an old blind man leads another across the crosswalk; literally the blind leading the blind.

I catch a glimpse of myself in the glass. The afternoon sun only lights half of my face. My eyes go directly to the darkest parts, which are my eyebrows and eyes, both dark brown. My hair is lighter and naturally messy, so I keep it cut short. I smirk at myself and it appears crooked in the glass. I drop the smile, stare for a second, and move on.

I watch a group of high school boys going into the oldest McDonald's I've ever seen. It has a neon sign from the '60's and everything. When the bus stops, I spring to my feet, lifting my bag's strap over my shoulder, and make my way out onto the street.

In the open air, I'm relieved from the smell of urine. Looking around, the nearest street sign reads Hudson Avenue. This, according to my cell, means I am three blocks from 45 East Evan Street. I check my new watch. 4:43. Damn it, just a minute. I pick up the pace, glancing at my phone for directions. It is a nice, clean-looking part of town, the kind with too many coffee shops. I hardly have time to notice the handsome little trees or the oriental designs in the stone apartments towering above. I pass a black lamppost with a green sign, saying 'Evan Street'.

My cell guides me to the apartment building. I enter near a small drug store, realizing I have no idea what room I need to find. I start walking and I hear muffled voices a few floors up. That's probably where I want to be. Watch says 4:46. As I climb the stairs, the more the voices distinguish themselves. One is fast and familiar, but I'm at a loss at the moment. One is a woman's. One is slower, calmer, and doesn't sound familiar. As I reach the third floor, I can see them and the owner of the third voice speaks.

"Okay. So he never made you feel special," the bald guy says to the red-headed woman. "And, trust me; you deserve to be made to feel special." You can tell he's almost bald even though he's wearing a black trilby hat. I can't see the other guy with his back to me.

"That's a really nice story," The other guy says quickly, turning to walk away and I recognize him instantly; his messy dark hair, skinny face, and prominent straight nose. "Hope you enjoy each other's company."

As soon as he sees me, he stops. I stop. "No way," I say and I walk towards the group. "J. Daniel Atlas?" He looks confused. "Dude, I have seen everything that you have ever done. I mean, you're like… I idolize you. Seriously." The other two laugh to themselves.

It was really Daniel Atlas; the whole reason I'm out on this endeavor to be a magician. I would spend my nights on the weekends looking up videos of him and figuring out how his tricks worked. I saw him perform live a few times; he had it going for him. Still trying to make it work for me…

"From a true fan," He says as he holds out his hand. I shake it. "It's so nice to meet you."

"I'm Jack, by the way," I smile.

"Question," Bald Guy raises up a card with a hooded figure on it. "Did you get one of these?" It looks similar enough to mine.

"Yeah," I say, digging through my jean pocket. I pull it out to show him. I smirk, "Yeah, Death." I shrug it off, giving a nervous laugh.

The red-headed woman looks like Daniel's assistant from the shows I've seen. She really is beautiful; the way her hair falls in a red river onto her shoulders and her eyes shine. She lifts up her card and gives me a genuine smile. "The High Priestess."

Daniel shows me his card and raises his eyebrows. "I'm the Lover." It has a picture of a snake wrapped around a heart.

Daniel's red-headed assistant (I think her name is Haley?) coughs and murmurs, "three minutes".

Bald Guy scoffs at his, saying, "Hermit". He winks at Haley.

At least I'm where I'm supposed to be. The three of them are standing in front of an apartment door with chipped gold characters. But these guys are just hanging outside it? I thought this was a meeting of some sort.

"So, what are we…? Are we waiting for someone?" I ask, looking around the group for an answer. "Why are we just…?"

"The door's locked," Daniel and Haley say in unison. Bald Guy just shrugs. I look from Daniel to Haley in disbelief. I shake my head.

"Oh, no, nothing- nothing's ever locked." Goodness. If it's locked; you pick it, simple at that. I push my way past them to get to the door. It's time to impress. I take the pick set out of my bag and stick them in the lock, and pick it in three seconds. I push the door and it swings in.

The door leads to a long hallway. It's dark and old. Haley pulls out her phone, turning on the flashlight. Daniel pulls an actual flashlight from his bag. Haley walks in past me and I follow her. The first thing that hits me is the cold. Like someone turned the air conditioning up to max. Each step on the wooden floorboards squeaks as we make our way inside.

"What is this place?" Haley asks herself, peering into the bathroom on the right, which was overrun with mold and grime.

"Wow. Thought my apartment was nasty," Bald Guy mutters under his breath.

On the left, an archway reveals a dining room. I only recognize it as a dining room because of the fireplace at the end of it. The rest of the room is cluttered with old, dusty furniture.

Continuing on, the hallway opens up to the main room. If it was being used, it would be the living room. It's a rectangular shape with a small kitchen to my right and another archway to the dining room to my left. Shuttered windows are sporadically placed around the room. Somehow, it's even colder in here.

"Man, it's freezing in here," I remark, looking around. Worked into the wood floor, there's a design like three rectangles connected with a line. And in front of it, a greeting card and a white rose are waiting.

"What's that?" asks Haley (or is it Henley?).

"I don't know," Daniel replies, picking up the card. Haley/Henley looks at it over his shoulder.

"What's it say?" Bald Guy demands, as he wanders over to the other side of the room as he looks around.

"Now you don't," Daniel reads, and then he gives me a suspicious look. Now you see me? Is that what that means?

Haley/Henley picks up the rose. "A rose by any other name…" She quotes, placing it in a vase on the floor to the left of the symbol. As soon as I hear the clink of the rose landing in the vase, water starts to drain out. I can't see a hole, but the water streams towards the symbol on the floor like a small river. Daniel gives a little chuckle.

"Guys, what's happening?" I wonder out loud, impressed.

Bald Guy lets out a soft, "Whoa", as the water trickles into the symbol on the floor, filling it up. As soon as it's filled, something drops beneath it and a thick vapor emerges.

"It's gas," I say, backing up. Are they trying to kill us?

"Relax. Just dry ice," Bald Guy says.

"Wait. What do you think this is all about?" Daniel asks, looking around to the three of us.

I take off my bag and gently toss it against the wall; looks like we'll be here for a while. The only thing I'm wondering is why I'm with a group of magicians; well, I'm guessing that Bald Guy must be one, too. That can't be an accident.

Bald Guy raises his hand to his head. "Hang on, hang on." Oh, so he's a mentalist. Great. Silence fills the room; everyone looks at him as he closes his eyes. After a few seconds, he grimaces, shaking his head, and sighs. "I got nothing."

"Okay, thank you. Thank you for the delay," Daniel remarks sarcastically.

The mentalist gestures with his arms, "I'm just trying to create the space for wisdom." The dry ice fog now covers the entire floor of the main room.

Haley/Henley crosses over to Daniel. "Danny, be honest. Did you do this?"

"No. Wait, did you?" He points to me. I'm shocked, but flattered. Daniel thinks I did this? That guy seems like he would be arrogant enough to believe I'd do that to impress him. Man, that would've required getting this apartment, outfitting it with that stuff. That's a lot of work and money that I don't have.

I scoff, "Well, I wish."

"Why didn't anyone ask me if I did it?" The mentalist asks. No one answers. Haley/Henley rolls her eyes. We spread out, exploring the apartment.

Daniel tries a light switch in the hall, I watch. "Electricity is out," I announce. Figures, I don't think anyone could actually live here.

The mentalist reaches up to a light bulb in the corner of the room, "Let's check," he says as he twists it tighter into the socket. The bulb lights up yellow. Three projectors that I didn't notice earlier come to life in beams of light and intersect in the middle of the room, over the symbol, creating a holographic image. The four of us come closer and I see that instead of one image, it's a bunch of little ones. There's the eye again, some blueprints of random contraptions, equations, and shapes that I can't make out.

"Blueprints," Haley/Henley observes.

"They're incredible," Daniel says.

"Who do you think did this?" I ask. It definitely wasn't any of us.

"I don't know, but I really want to meet them," Haley/Henley says. In the center of it all, the symbol that was on the floor earlier becomes bolder and enlarges. "It's a show."


	4. The Swipe

You were in or you were out. The four of us were in on a preplanned heist with specific targets by an unknown mastermind. That's what the hologram was all about; they were plans. Why did we agree? We were being offered money, fame, and an adventure. I wanted all three.

This next year will be preparation for the biggest thing that any of us have ever done. Bigger than most people will ever attempt in their lives. I'm working harder than anyone. Being the youngest and least experienced, I have something to prove. I've been warned that I have the hardest part in this plan later on and I couldn't let the other three doubt me. But still, I don't know why the show master, the guy who planned all this, would choose me. I was never a success. I just hope that guy sees something I don't.

We're in Paris, France to prepare for our first show. I know now that Haley/Henley is Henley Reeves and hasn't been Daniel's assistant since an event that she won't mention. She's now solo and puts on magic stunts for a paying audience. Bald Guy (aka the mentalist) is Merritt McKinney, who used to be somebody in magic, but got cheated. Now he appears wherever he can in hopes of a comeback. But, now we're all someone else. As a team, we're the Four Horsemen and we'll soon be the biggest names in entertainment.

Stealing wallets is something I can do and I'm good at, but this time it's different. People, my teammates, are counting on me. And I have one mark; a Frenchman named Etienne Forcier who'll star in our first show for no other reason than his bank. The Credit Republican of Paris is going to be robbed by none other than us. And it starts with me.

We got two hotel rooms for the few days we're staying in Paris. One for Henley, one for us guys. It's a three-bed room with a couch and a TV, which is pretty decent for one of the cheapest hotels in Paris. Sadly, our few days in this city are purely prep work and it's the last day.

"Jack will get Etienne Forcier's signature from his credit card," Daniel says, handing me a playing card. It's the two of hearts. Daniel's sitting on his bed, papers splayed around him in piles. He stops rifling through his paper for a minute to point to the card I'm holding, "Copy it on this card with a Sharpie; he'll pick it during the show."

"He can't see your face," Merritt says from the couch, he's been reading some weird book with a face on the cover or something.

"I thought he wouldn't remember it," I reply, flipping the card into my pocket. Merritt had said earlier that he would make sure that the Frenchman wouldn't recognize us later at the show. I go through my suitcase for a Sharpie.

"Well, he'll recognize the guy who stole his wallet. It's something people tend to remember," Merritt tells me, not looking up from his book and turning the page.

"No one ever sees me take it," I raise an eyebrow at him.

I would never be that sloppy.

"He won't even notice that it's gone." I slip the marker in my pocket and head towards the door, grabbing my leather jacket.

Daniel opens his mouth to say something, but I can guess what it is (and I'm not a mentalist).

"No, I won't steal anything," I sigh, pulling on my jacket. "It'll go right back into his pocket. Can I go now?"

For some reason, when I told Daniel about my adeptness in pick pocketing, he assumed I stole for a living. Which actually isn't true; I usually do it for an act, but lately it's been a bad habit.

"Sign it in the middle," Daniel adds as I walk out.

Etienne Forcier is out on his daily commute. We have his routine down to a T. That was the first couple days. It's stalker-ish, I know, but necessary. I catch him buying his newspaper at a stand and note that he put his wallet in his inside pocket of his suit jacket. Damn. That won't be easy.

Usually, to get a wallet out of that pocket, I need to be face-to-face with the person. Having a conversation is the easiest way to do that. But, that's going to be hard for me, not knowing any French except for: 'bonjour', 'pardon', and 'merci'. Guess I'll wait for the right moment…

I casually follow him a good few meters behind. Luckily, Paris is similar to New York. It's older, but there are still lots of people on narrow sidewalks and it's easy to become invisible. He likes to stop at 'Pomme de Pain' for a sandwich at lunch. That's where he's heading now, I hope.

After walking a few blocks, the dark-haired Frenchman turns into a small shop with bright green awning. 'Pomme de Pain'. When I enter a few seconds later, the door closes with a jingle. No one looks up. There's a soft chatter of French in the room and it smells like fresh bread. Everything is green; the walls, the tiles, and the tablecloths. The sun reflects through the window, bathing the room with a warm glow.

I get behind Etienne in line; I don't want to tip him off by not buying anything. I listen to him order in front of me so I can repeat it with the accent. '_Donnez-moi __un __sandwich au jambon__, __s'il vous plaît.' _I murmur it under my breath a few 't want to sound American. I've been using this trick way too often this week.

Mister Forcier pays and I watch him tuck his wallet back into the left pocket on the inside of his jacket. That's still shitty. He steps aside and waits for his order.

"Bonjour. Donnez-moi un sandwich au jambon, s'il vous plaît," I say, approaching the counter.

"Je pense qu'il est très populaire aujourd'hui, mais non?" The lady asks. Fantastic.

I nod, not smiling, and hand her the Euros. Smiling too much is very American. She hands me my sandwich. "Merci," I say.

I'll take a seat behind Etienne, who is now seated at one of the tables near the window. He took his jacket off! Yes. His suit jacket now hangs on the back of his chair. I sit down, our chairs back to back.

My phone vibrates; I'll have to check it in a second.

I hold my sandwich in my left hand and reach for the pocket with my right. I bring my hand back clasping the wallet. I take out his credit card with 'Credit Republicain de Paris' advertised on one side. I flip it over to look at his signature. It's simple enough to replicate. I quickly copy it onto the two of hearts card with a Sharpie. I compare the two signatures; they're identical. Mission complete; I slide the wallet back into his pocket with the credit card inside.

I check my phone. Daniel left me a text. 'Don't take any money. Did you get it?'

'Yes, I got a sandwich. Do you want one, too?' I text back. Now what should I do? Go back to the room? Sleep? Eat? No, I'll more likely get another job.

'Good, you're joking. I'll take that to mean that it went well. I'll see you when you get back.'

Now he'll be expecting me. I guess I'll see what he's got.

Surprisingly, Daniel didn't want me to do anything. I get back, everything is as it was before I left forty-five minutes ago; Daniel on his bed, Merritt on the couch. Neither of them even looks up when I come in. I place the card on Daniel's knee.

"Good boy," Merritt says from the couch.

"Have you even done anything?" I ask.

"Not since you left. And it has been great," Merritt replies, smiling to himself.

"Okay, you, you're supposed to be getting ready for tonight," Daniel demands, pointing at Merritt, "and you can… do whatever," he tells me.

"What's tonight again?" I ask because I honestly don't remember. Maybe I was sleeping when he thought he informed me.

"We're robbing the bank."

"Right, that's cool."

* * *

It's dark out, the streetlamps are lit. The street is calm in the cool air. There's a bridge for the French transit train going above us. Nothing is happening; I mean it's one in the morning and I'm exhausted. I wait in a SUV across the street from Merritt, who is mounted on a motorcycle, decked out in a police uniform. We're waiting for the armored truck going to the Credit Republican of Paris.

I've been sitting in this black SUV for… about an hour. I have the radio on softly, French pop music is playing. I kick my feet up on the dash and glance behind me at the stacks of fake Euros. It occurs to me that I don't know how Daniel came by the fake money.

Why did I jump on this plan anyway? I'm clearly stealing here; I'm obviously breaking the law. Not to mention the money fraud. I'm rethinking this. So, I'm in on this plan to… Join the Eye? That's what the other three seem to think. Or this could be a plan to get into jail, but there are easier ways to do that.

The Eye is this secret organization the supposedly guards the secrets for real magic. That's very far-fetched; I don't really believe that. However, they only let a few people join every few decades. Our plans seem to be coming from them. We could be working for a psychopath or a genius.

The plans come gradually as we complete orders. Thankfully, none of it seems idiotic. These plans are brilliant; there aren't any flaws. Plus, a lot of these schemes are to get back at bad people who've wronged innocents. Maybe that's why I'm going along with this.

Normally, I'd be nervous, but that was the first thirty minutes of waiting. I'm kind of dozing off now. Not even the energizing music keeps me from closing my eyes. I end up zoning off until Merritt radios me.

"Jack, get ready."

I startle myself awake, looking around outside the SUV. Coming up the road is a large white truck, a bus really. It's the only thing moving, the white headlights blazing a trail along the road. As the truck comes to a stop at the intersection, Merritt takes off his helmet. I turn the key to start the car and watch as the driver of the truck falls asleep on the steering wheel. Sometimes Merritt is a little scary.

I pull the car around to the back of the truck, and put it in park. Merritt demounts and walks over. I roll down the window.

"You ready?"

"Sure," I murmur as I climb out, grabbing the keys. Merritt and I open the back doors of the truck to see Daniel and Henley sitting in the middle of the money. Daniel and Henley were able to get in the truck by hiding in the false bottom of the cart that held the money. They were already inside it before the truck even left. And when the truck came to a stop at the correct intersection, Henley drugged the guard. He's now unconscious on the floor.

"Hello, boys," Henley says, standing up and climbing out. Daniel, holding a block of money, follows.

Daniel gets right back to giving orders. "Now, we need to replace this money," he holds up his chunk. "With the money in there," he points to the car. I dramatically pop the trunk door with the remote. "Put the good money in the bags," He says.

It takes us five minutes to make the switch. Finally, the fake money is on the crate in the armored truck. Under the money; the card I signed and the ticket stub identical to the one that Etienne will have at our first show in Las Vegas. Also hidden in the money is some flash paper triggered to light around the time we perform; that's how it'll disappear. The real money is in our car, safely in multiple duffel bags.

Luckily, for our shows we got a benefactor, Arthur Tressler, who doesn't ask too many questions. He let us borrow his private jet for our week in Paris. The airport security might've asked questions about our numerous suspicious duffel bags.


	5. The Bank

"Merritt McKinney," The announcer's voice booms across the stadium-like building. "Daniel Atlas, Henley Reeves."

Here it comes, "Jack Wilder." Aw, yes.

"Arthur Tressler and the MGM Grand proudly present the Four Horsemen."

The screens around the room display our faces and our logo, the three rectangles with the connected line. The four of us are dressed in all black; Daniel and Merritt are in suits; Henley's wearing a suit jacket and a skirt. Me, I'm in a collared dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, suspenders, and jeans; all black. I don't wear tuxes.

We stand on a circular stage in the center of the auditorium. Because it's circular, we all have to keep walking around it to engage the entire crowd. The audience surrounds it, applauding us, cheering us on.

Our beginning acts were nothing compared to what we have planned for the finale. For our first act, I helped Henley do a magic stunt with a sword. At first, it looked as though I had impaled her through the chest with the sword and she seemed dead for a moment, but a second later she pulled it out with a smile. Second act was a few clever card tricks from Daniel. Third act was Merritt hypnotizing a few audience members to believe they were in the Philharmonic Orchestra.

Now, we're nearing the end of the show. I'm getting used to the huge crowd and I'm starting to enjoy it. I can't stop smiling.

"Thank you," Merritt says, "Tonight we would like to try something that will, well, set us a bit apart."

Henley takes over, "For our final trick, we're going to do something never before seen on a Las Vegas stage."

"Or any stage, for that matter," I say.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Daniel says, coming to center stage. "Tonight…we are going to rob a bank." The crowd goes wild, and the noise gets deafening. "That's a lot of excitement for a crime." Henley encourages the crowd to get louder. I give Merritt a high-five. People start the slow clap.

"Now, please, please, settle down," Daniel says, waving his hands down. "Now, who here has a bank they would like us to rob?"

I laugh as half the room raises their hands.

"Oh, okay, that's a lot of people with a vendetta. So we'll choose one at random then." The crowd laughs. "My associates will make sure it's random. Right?"

The three of us take out bowls filled with numbered ping pong balls and go to different sides of the stage. I'm first; I hold my bowl down to the guy in front of me. He had the black hair, the rings, the jewels, and the shirt showing too much chest-hair.

"Elvis, help me out, bud." I mimic Elvis Presley's baritone voice and say, "Thank you very much," after he hands me a ball.

"In Jack's bowl are ping pong balls with section numbers. Jack, could you hand me a section number."

I throw the ball I was palming to the middle of the stage where it bounces once and Daniel catches it. "Thank you," He looks at it. "We are looking at Section B. Where is Section B?" Section B stands up and cheers. "Okay. There. It's going to be one of you guys, get ready."

Merritt has a girl in front of him choose a ball for the row number and tosses the ball. Daniel catches it, announcing row number five. Then Henley throws him a seat number.

"Oh, lucky number thirteen. B-5-13. Where are you? Sir, please, stand up," The spotlight turns on over to the seat and a dark-haired man in a white jacket stands up; it's Etienne Forcier. Well, I guess Merritt's hypnotism and reinforcements did the trick. He took his vacation to Las Vegas.

"There you are. Hi. Could you just confirm for me that this is, in fact, your seat? B-5-13?" Daniel holds up the balls in one hand for the camera and it's displayed on the screens.

Etienne Forcier turns around to check his seat and back. "Yes," he says.

"Okay, wonderful," Daniel chucks the balls away from him. "Now, could you please tell us your name and the name of your bank?"

"Well, my name is Etienne Forcier and my bank; it's Credit Republicain de Paris," Etienne replies, his French accent now obvious, but still understandable.

"French. Okay," Daniel replies. "Ah, we were hoping for something a little more local, a kind of mom-and-pop credit union with no security, but that's fine. A promise is a promise. Could you please come up to the stage? And we'll rob your bank."

I make my way to meet Etienne and lead him to the stage, a job for the assistant. Ugh. I'm glad that there's no flash of recognition in his face when he meets me.

"And while he does that," Daniel continues. "There is someone here tonight without whom we would just be four magicians working the circuit, trying to get… Well, actually, trying to get here. You probably know this man, if not from one of the many, many companies he puts his name on. He is our friend. He is our benefactor. Mr. Arthur Tressler." At that, Daniel gestures towards the crowd and a spotlight shines on Art, the white-haired British businessman, as he stands, accepting the applause. He waves.

"The only man here with the Queen's cell phone number," Merritt states.

I take Etienne's left arm, leading him up the steps and onto the center stage. Man, this guy is rich. Full white ensemble, completed with a fancy blue dress shirt and light brown shoes to match.

"Actually, please, stay standing, Art. I want to say that when we came to Mr. Tressler, we promised that, as a unit, we could become the biggest name in magic," Daniel says.

Henley takes over with, "So we wanted to say thank you and, by the way, Art, you notice on the sign out front, we made sure we put your name on top."

"If you turn out to be as good as you think you are, dear girl, that won't be necessary much longer," Art says with a smile and a nod before taking his seat.

I hand off Etienne to Merritt, who meets us center stage, and I run to grab a prop.

"We haven't done our closer yet. Why don't you watch it and then you can decide for yourself. Ladies and gentlemen, Arthur Tressler."

"Thank you. And, of course, once again, the Cardinal of Clairvoyance," Daniel waves his arm to center stage, where Merritt now stands with Etienne. "Merritt McKinney."

I reach the stage with the prop and bring it to the middle of the stage.

"Etienne," Merritt says. "What Jack is bringing to the stage now, is what we in the magic world call a teleportation helmet." I smirk, hold it high, and walk a circle around them, showing it off. The "teleportation helmet" is basically a bunch of metal wires and circular metal lights and buttons melded together. Whatever works, I guess. "You will need to wear this, as it will allow you to literally fold through space and time to your bank in the…"

"Eighth?" Merritt guesses. Etienne shakes his head. "Ninth arrondissement," Merritt decides. Etienne nods.

Merritt continues, "Now, once you are there, we will be able to speak with you through this helmet."

I settle the "helmet" onto Etienne's head.

"Now if…," Merritt stops as I adjust it, fixing Etienne's collar while adjusting the attached microphone. "Oh my god, that's beautiful. It has the added attraction of being very stylish. It's about time the French learned from America on that subject. Is that a beautiful piece of headgear?" I flip the lights on and step back. Masterpiece complete; I throw my arms out, gesturing toward it. Voila! (I guess I do know more French than I thought.)

The audience applauds and all Etienne can say is "Thank you… thank you…"

"Mais oui, mais oui," Merritt replies. Daniel and Henleymake their way center stage.

"Now, before you go anywhere, could you please, pick a card, any card," Daniel says, fanning out a deck. Etienne reaches out, but Daniel pulls it back.

"Not that card." Daniel smiles and holds it back out, "No, that's an old American joke. You can take that one." Etienne takes it.

"Show it to your friends in Section B there, but not to us," Daniel says. Etienne raises it up, showing it to the audience. "Okay, great. If you could just sign your name there… in English, if possible." The audience laughs as Etienne signs his name in the middle of the card and puts it in his jacket pocket.

"And now," Henley announces, "For one tiny detail." She reaches and pulls fabric out of seemingly nowhere and it swirls around the very middle of the stage and into the ceiling, revealing a mechanical contraption. The audience gets excited with cheers and hollers.

The machine isn't really anything; it's for show, like the helmet. It looks like a giant press. There's a platform for him to stand on and the other maybe seven feet up. The whole thing could easily be ten feet tall.

Merritt says, "Now, Etienne, let's step into this cockamamie contraption." He leads him onto the platform. "And I'll step off of it. Bonne chance." Daniel and I step forward and lower the translucent screen down from the top to the bottom. Merritt continues, "It's 11:50 pm here in Vegas; that's 8:50 am in Paris. You bank opens in less than ten minutes."

The machine powers up and the four of us step back.

"One," Merritt says.

"Two," I say.

"Three," Henley says, as she presses a giant button on a remote connected to the machine. The two platforms forcefully clash together loudly with Etienne inside; everyone gasps. The lights flicker off and back on.

"It wasn't supposed to happen like that, was it?" Merritt asks, looking around. "I liked that little French guy. Where'd he go?"

I look around. I know we're acting, but it still scared me.

The screens around the room light up. There's a faint static noise as the camera on the helmet gives us an image of Etienne's face. Behind him, you can see a vault door.

"Wait, there he is," Daniel sighs, pointing to the screen. The audience is relieved and applauds. "This is Daniel Atlas. Can you hear me? Etienne? Are you okay?"

"Yes," Etienne replies as the camera redirects toward the stack of Euros.

Even though we can clearly see it, Daniel asks, "What do you see in there?"

"Money," He says. "Is this real?"

Yes, it actually is. Under the stage is a vault set that looks just like the guy's bank. The entire thing is a blinding clean white and has shiny silver deposit boxes covering the walls. In the vault set, we put all of the real money we got from the armored truck. It's on a crate in the middle of the room and Etienne is staring at it in amazement. He picks up a few bills and fans them out.

"Yes. Looks like three million or so Euros' worth," Daniel answers. "Okay, now, here's what we're going to need you to do. I want you to take the card that you signed out of your pocket." He does. "And I want you to take the ticket stub from tonight's show and I want you to put it right there in the middle of the money." He drops the two pieces of paper in between the stacks.

"Now, on the side of your helmet you should feel a button. Don't press it just yet. That button activates an air duct that connects Paris to Las Vegas. Okay, good, now you can press it." Etienne does and the sound of wind starts to rise up.

"All right, now, Etienne, hold on tight. You might feel a bit of a vacuum," I say, jokingly.

The money in the vault starts to blow around and swirl towards the vent in the ceiling. Etienne chuckles as money flies past him. With each passing second, the suction gets stronger and stronger until all of it is gone.

A rumbling noise slowly gets louder in the auditorium where we are. Suddenly, the real Euros are fluttering down like leaves from the ceiling. The crowd goes nuts. I'm instantly relieved that it worked, I let out a nervous laugh I was holding in.

"Thank you, Etienne," Daniel yells to be heard over the roar of the crowd. "Thank you, everyone!"

In unison, we all say, "We are the Four Horsemen. Good night!" We all join hands and take our bows.

After the show, Merritt let Etienne out, but still let him believe it was real magic (as in hypnotism terms). We found out that our flash paper did go off in the bank in Paris from the news. It worked. Now we deal with the police.


	6. The FBI

The FBI comes when we're hanging out in our hotel room at Aria. It is so much nicer than the one in Paris. There's floor to ceiling glass windows; Daniel's looking out at the tall skyscrapers of Las Vegas. And there's actually a main room. It has a modern theme; everything is wood and stones, and some tan color. It has a bar, a huge TV, a couch, a desk with a computer, and a spiral staircase. Merritt is lying on the couch, rereading that weird book. This place is high class. It's a plus side to having Art as a benefactor.

We're leaving for New York soon, so I'm packed and my suitcase's ready. Henley is upstairs, still packing. The bags are in a pile next to the couch.

I'm lounging in a chair at a side table; it's off in the corner of the room, near the TV. I have my feet up on the table, my new iPad is resting on my lap, and I'm playing Fruit Ninja. The room is quiet except for the sound of slicing fruit.

"FBI! Hands where I can see them!" The room is suddenly filled with people in black suits with guns. We figured someone would come to arrest or question us; I mean we did openly rob a bank in front of an audience. But, man, the FBI? How cool is that? I pause the game.

Merritt raises one finger, saying, "Uno minuto," and his eyes don't even move from the page.

I slowly raise my hands above my head. Daniel turns away from the window with a confused look on his face and hesitantly raises his hands; there's a deck of cards in one hand.

"Put the book down," One of the men orders Merritt.

Merritt smiles and sighs, "Okay, you got me." He sets the book on his chest and raises his hands with peace signs.

Henley is coming down the stairs, putting on her jacket when another man yells, "Freeze! Hands in the air!" at her.

She's startled, but regains her cool. With her jacket only half on, she raises her hands and asks, "Do one of you guys mind giving us a hand with our bags?"

Unexpectedly, they don't mind. They cuff us, but they carry our bags for us. We walk in a line, cuffed like criminals, but we don't feel like ones. I have a huge grin on my face. We're applauded by other guests as we walk out through the casino on the ground floor.

We're put in separate SUVs. I'm guessing it's so we can't collaborate on a story. It doesn't matter. The ride is really boring and I almost fall asleep (in my defense, the show ended at midnight). The agent sitting next to me jabs me in the gut. I open my eyes and stare at him, trying to make him uncomfortable. It works; the agent shifts towards the window.

I ask him, "How long is this going to be?"

I receive a confused look from the agent and he answers, "Depends."

Once we get to the FBI headquarters (how cool does that sound?), the agent leads me to an interrogation room. Just two chairs, one on either side of a table, and a one way glass window.

I decide to cooperate. I let the FBI agent attach my cuffs to a bar on the table and seat me in the surprisingly comfortable chair. I'm facing the door and the window, which looks like a mirror from this side. When I slouch, kick my feet up on the table, and slip my hands out of the cuffs and into my lap, I'm able to nod off.

I wake up a minute later when the door opens with a click and I'm face-to-face with a lady in a suit, who looks strict enough to be a math teacher. I can smell wintergreen mints on her breath.

"Kid," Math Teacher asks me, sounding pissed, "Why aren't you handcuffed?"

I shrug in response and accidentally (on purpose) bump her as I go to put the cuffs back on. She coldly snatches them from me, unlocks the cuffs, and tightens them harder than before. Then she leaves. That was the easiest interrogation ever; I even got a mint out of Math Teacher's pocket when I bumped her.

How are the others doing? It occurs to me that the FBI agents might not even talk to me. Daniel is, obviously, the leader. They'll interrogate him. Danny will most likely only give them snarky comments and threats. If they talk to Henley, the agents will only receive her suave responses. Merritt will have fun with them, oh boy. Too bad they won't let me watch that.

I resume my napping position, which is slightly adjusted due to the cuffs. I rest my hands on the table and close my eyes.

I think FBI agents have something against their suspects sleeping. I've hardly dozed off again, when the door swings open wide. I open one eye slightly. Two agents debate in harsh whispers about whether or not to enter. The blond woman gestures towards me, seemingly in favor of having me questioned. The dark-haired man with a round face looks fed up and resists.

I catch the man say, "I'm tired of these idiots…don't want to talk to the assistant…the nerve to sleep in an interrogation room."

They continue for about ten seconds, in which the woman gives him a look. He sighs and walks in. But, he immediately turns back around, saying, "I'm not doing it!" and the door closes once again.

I can't sleep after that; I just stare at the wall. I don't want to be thought of as the assistant. I'll have to talk to Danny about that.

Right on cue, Henley opens the door, followed by Math Teacher with a key. She hardly takes a step when I slip out of the handcuffs.

"No need," I say, standing up. Math Teacher gets that pissed look on her face again and throws her hands up in frustration.

I join Henley and we walk out. I'm still thinking about the assistant thing.

"Henley," I ask, staring at the ground as we go, "How did you quit as an assistant?"

She starts laughing at me. Then she realizes I'm serious and drops the smile. "Sorry," Henley says darkly, "Well, you're not going to be an assistant much longer… Not that you are now."

"What?" I say, still not looking her in the eye.

Henley leans in and whispers, "Danny has some more plans to show you. We didn't tell you earlier because we didn't want you to be nervous."

"Does it have to do with the death card?"

Henley nods. We find Merritt and Danny waiting for us at the exit. Together we walk out to the cars that'll take us to the airport.

* * *

I keep quiet until we arrive back at the apartment in New York. It's been our headquarters ever since we met a year ago. Since then, the place has become cluttered with plans (models of venues, lists, maps, that sort of thing). The furniture that was stacked in the dining room got vacuumed and distributed throughout the rooms and everything has been cleaned (sort of). At least now the bathroom is useable and we brought in a TV. There's also another door near the kitchen that I didn't notice the first time.

I've set up camp in the bedroom. The room doesn't actually have a bed, just plans for the final show. No one else sleeps in the apartment but me because the others go home. I keep a sleeping bag stashed in the closet, so I can just sleep on the couch here. It's not every night, though. It's only because I forgot to pay the bills for my own apartment, so there's no electricity or water there.

The four of us are meeting in the main room, on the couches. As soon as we're all sitting, I immediately ask what's weighing on my mind. "So, Danny," I say. "How about the plan for my death?"

"Well, okay," Daniel replies, unfazed. "I mean, you did get the death card, so this shouldn't be much of a shock. However, "they" want you to fake your death and "they" gave us a plan to do that, as well. You'll die in a car accident. The car will flip multiple times and then go up in flames."

"What? How am I supposed to survive that?"

Daniel gets up and grabs a stack of paper and folders. He looks hesitant when he hands it to me, like I'll destroy his precious paper with one touch. "This is all they gave us on it," He sits back down and continues, "From what I understand, it'll be one big sleight of hand trick. They probably chose you specifically because that's what you're skilled at."

Wow, that's almost a compliment. But faking my own death? I don't understand how Danny's so calm about this. He just moves on to what happened during the interrogations and the plans for our next show in New Orleans. He doesn't even consider how this is going to ruin my life. Come to think of it, I don't really have much of a life. The few people I know will think I'm dead.

I see why they were keeping this from me until now. I expected something like this for an initiation into the Eye because they're rumored to test your blind obedience. However, I didn't expect something that I can't turn back from. This is an all or nothing thing.

When I read the plans, I realize just how complicated it is. There'll be no question that I died when it's over. It involves taking on several FBI agents, stealing a car and then driving said car, stealing a corpse from the morgue, and more than a little improvisation. Holy shit.

The more I think about who'll care when I die, the more I think of my family. My heart sinks at the thought of my parents watching the news and then seeing that I died in a fiery explosion after crashing a car. I can picture them crying; I don't want them to cry. Even though I haven't spoken to my parents in a year, I feel like I need to warn them about what'll happen. I decide to write them a letter as something they can hold on to when they see me on the news. But, I can't tell them everything.

Here's what they'll find in their mailbox:

_Mom & Dad-_

_You guys know that I want to be a famous magician. Now, I finally get the chance. You'll know what I mean when you see it; maybe you already have. All I want you to remember is: When it seems like the end for me, I need you to have faith. But, this is goodbye._

_-Jack_

I've never used the word 'faith' before, but it seemed to work here.


	7. The Reading

Before I know it, we're off again. No more time to ponder death. I've read the essentials through many times, but most of it is going to be on-the-spot decisions. I need to get my mind off it; enjoy the now.

We're in Art's private jet again. We're flying to New Orleans during Mardi Gras, no less. I sit myself at a table seat, planning to play with some cards. But then this girl boards. All I know is she's Arthur Tressler's daughter, her name is Jasmine, and she shows up to everything he does.

Jasmine walks over to me and asks, "Can I sit here?" She points to the seat across from me.

"Sure," I shrug as I shuffle the deck, only glancing up when she sits. Jasmine's dressed formally in a pink jacket and tan dress pants. Her brown hair falls in a wave onto her shoulders. I've never seen her not smiling and she's cute.

"So, what're you doing for the show? Last show you didn't do much," Jasmine asks. I slip the deck back in the box.

"True; that sucked. The New Orleans show will be so much cooler. I've got two solo tricks this time. It's going to be awesome," I look up at her and grin. It's impossible not to be happy around Jasmine.

"What?" She says, leaning back into her chair.

"Well, I can't tell you what the tricks are, if that's what you're asking," I say, raising an eyebrow.

Jasmine smirks. "Each of the Four Horsemen has a sort of specialty," Jasmine points out. "Henley's the daredevil with magic stunts, Merritt's the mentalist, and Daniel's the showman. But we haven't seen yours."

That stumps me. I haven't really thought about it, so I tell her, "Just wait until the show. I'll give you a hint: it involves cards."

"No way," Jasmine replies sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

Danny, who's been sitting up in the front of the plane, suddenly stands up and walks by me. Here's my chance to bring it up. "Oh, hey, Danny, can I talk to you about my role in the show real quick?"

"Yeah, sure…," He pats my head and keeps walking, clearly not intending to talk to me. I brush it off and give Jasmine the 'can you believe that guy?' look.

"Hey, guys," Danny says to Henley and Merritt, who were talking behind me. "We got a show to prepare for."

Merritt stands up. "Do we now?" He asks, staring into his eyes.

Danny turns away, shaking his head, and the argument moves in front of me, "No, don't do that. You're not doing that thing to me, no."

"What thing? I'm just looking at you," Merritt says with a mischievous grin.

"No, you're not. I've been watching you for a year. I know all of your little tricks."

"Is that what they are to you? Tricks?"

"Yes," Danny counters like it's the obvious answer, "It's gimmicks. It's Barnum statements. It's reading the eyes; body language. I get it."

"If it's such an easy thing, why don't you do Henley?"

"Yeah, Danny," Henley cuts in from behind Merritt. "Why don't you do me?"

"No, you're too easy. I'll do," Danny scans the room for anyone else. "Jasmine," He decides, placing his hand on her shoulder. Jasmine looks up at him, smiling.

"No," Art says from up front. We all turn to look at him. "Do me."

"Oh, yeah," Merritt looks delighted, like Christmas had come early. "Do Art. Even better."

Now it seems like a natural argument, we've all seen this coming. Merritt vs. Daniel. However, this argument has a purpose. This fake challenge will provide us with answers needed for the show. We need to find information on Art, so what could be better than letting him tell us himself?

"Okay, Art," Daniel agrees. Ah, this'll be good. Even though it's fake, Daniel's still trying to do Merritt's act and read his mind. Jasmine and I move to where Art's sitting.

Most of the time, Art keeps a calm composure. He's hardly ever distressed; he's mostly in a good mood. So, he's correct when he says, very matter-of-fact, "But I'll warn you, I can be difficult to read when I want to be."

"Just stay with me, okay?" Danny looks a little distressed, but he's not going to back out of a challenge. He inhales, "So, Art, you were a tough kid. You know… kind of a real rapscallion. You had a dog; a real tough dog; a brutish breed. Like a real… I want to say, Ben the bulldog." Danny stops with an expecting look, eyebrows raised as he waits for Art's response.

"Actually, I was a prissy little tot. I had a fluffy white cat called Snuffles," Art says and then bursts into laughter. We all laugh.

Danny hits the wall in frustration. "Sorry," he says quickly when Art glares.

As I'm still laughing, I say, "Wait, let me try one. I can do way better than that."

"Let him do it," Henley agrees, pointing to me.

"Come on, give me one more time. One more time," Danny says, raising his arms to shush us. "Family. Let's do family. You had an uncle on your mother's side. He had a real, kind of… a real masculine name. A real, kind of, salt-of-the-earth… You know a real stick-it-to-you… Like it was some kind of Paul Thompson. Was it a Paul…? Okay. You know what? I got nothing," Danny sighs.

"Nearly though," Art replies sympathetically.

"Was I?" Danny looks hopeful.

"Yeah. My uncle's name was Cushman Armitage," Art bursts into laughter again. We all join him.

"Really? Snuffles and Cushman Armitage? That was your childhood?" Danny asks.

"I certainly hope tonight's show is going to be better than this," Art says, as he looks around to all of us.

"Don't worry," Danny gives him a dry chuckle. "Just you wait."

* * *

The four of us are in one of the backrooms of the Savoy Theater in New Orleans, preparing. Every room in this place looks as if it was built in the 1850's or something; everything's made out of stone. Pillars and warm-colored curtains are everywhere.

I'm preparing/dozing on the couch with the iPad, half-listening to Merritt's unsuccessful attempts to "woo" Henley on the couch over. Henley seems unimpressed and focuses on the rabbit in her lap instead. Whenever this sort of thing happens, Danny gets this disgusted and offended look on his face. I might be the only one to notice this.

Due to the Four Horsemen's escape from any punishment whatsoever for the bank robbery, the press, good and bad, has jumped on the topic. Arthur Tressler had a Skype interview with Conan, which I didn't even notice I was in. It was during the flight and apparently I'm in the background, talking to Jasmine. That interview was a positive thing; they just mentioned how giving money to the audience was a good way to get the public's attention. No kidding.

"Pardon the intrusion," A deep voice says as it enters the room. I lift my head. It's none other than Thaddeus Bradley himself. Bradley is an older brown-skinned man with the voice of God. Tonight he was dressed up in a classic black suit and a fedora. He neglected any sort of tie. I roll my eyes as I quit Fruit Ninja. (I'm a boss; those fruits have no chance.)

Thaddeus Bradley would fall under the negative press category. Bradley used to be a magician, but he basically sucked, so he changed careers from aspiring magician to magician debunker. He had the know-how, but not the talent. Now he uses his intelligence for evil and ruins the lives of many magicians by showing the public how their tricks are done. Bradley has made it clear that he's going after us next and he's also helping out the FBI.

Bradley takes a step forward and continues, "I just wanted to wish you good luck tonight."

"What, so you can try to expose us later on your little website?" I say.

"And on demand," Bradley adds, smiling evilly.

"That's not going to happen," Henley tells him.

"Oh, no?" Bradley was enjoying taunting us. "Operating on a special plane because of the Eye? I heard it's a lovely place; lots of star shine and moonbeams. Make any magician's wish come true. You've come a long way, much further than anyone would have expected of a bunch of wannabes and has-beens."

I have no idea how he found out about the Eye, but I don't appreciate being called a wannabe.

Merritt stands up at that statement. "Oh, if by "has-been" you're referring to me, I just want to say I'm flattered, because I always considered myself a never-was," Merritt starts to pull on his suit jacket. "Do you mind if I do a quick read on you?"

"By all means," Bradley says, amused.

"Okay, I'm picturing a little boy. He wants to be a great magician someday. And though he's good, he's not quite good enough. So he ends up at the bottom of the entertainment food chain, feeding off of those who have the talent that he never did. Tell me, am I getting close?"

Bradley is no longer amused and turns to leave.

Then Danny stands up, "Wait. Before you go, I'm working on something new." He walks over to where Bradley and Merritt are standing. "Do you have a second? Okay, name a card."

Henley brings the rabbit over and I follow, joining the group.

"King of hearts," Bradley says.

"Knew it," Merritt says.

Danny holds a deck in his right hand and then snaps his fingers at it. Shakes it and then blows air on it.

Bradley scrunches up his face; he seems to think he knows this one. "It's up your left sleeve."

"Is it?" Danny looks up his sleeve and holds it open, showing the four of us."No, no, don't see it there." He points to Bradley. "You know, why don't you check your unnecessary velveteen pocket there?"

He looks at it. "Yeah," Danny says.

Bradley pulls the card out. The type on it reads, 'Suck it.'

"Anyway, thank you so much for coming by," Danny says with fake sincerity, "But this is kind of a talent only area, so…"

Bradley tosses the card away and he walks out. "Break a leg."

"Hey," Merritt calls. "You break something, too."


	8. The Flashlight

This show is my last show. Ever. Sadly, it's only my second. So it has to be awesome.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the amplified voice announces over the room. "The Savoy management welcomes you to tonight's special performance, The Four Horsemen, Act Two. Unlike traditional performances, The Four Horsemen encourage you to film, call your friends, upload, stream, and tweet the show freely. Thank you. The show will begin in a few minutes."

The audience is the most important thing tonight. I look out into the crowd from backstage, where it's too dark for them to see. Not only are there VIPs, there are cheated people about to get justice. The VIPs include the Tresslers, Art and Jasmine, Thaddeus Bradley and his assistant, FBI agent Dylan Rhodes, and Interpol agent Alma Dray. Agent Rhodes apparently was the man who refused to interview me at the headquarters. That makes Alma Dray the pretty blond seated next to him.

Someone nudges me from the side; it's a crewman. He tells me that Daniel Atlas wants me to wear a tracking bracelet. I sigh and put it on, but he'll hear about it later.

The stage in New Orleans is a ton different than the Las Vegas one. It's made of black geometric shapes, four rectangles jutting out from a circle and into the audience. On the wall at the back of the stage, our symbol shines.

"Arthur Tressler presents…" The stage dramatically lights up with each name announced. Each of us stands on a different rectangle. "Jack Wilder, Henley Reeves, Merritt McKinney, and Daniel Atlas. The Four Horsemen." Applause and cheers echo throughout the room.

For the attire tonight, they actually got me into a suit. They told me that I had to match the other guys. I agreed, but only if I could wear a vest under the jacket. So, we all wore black suits with white shirts.

"Thank you. Before we begin, we'd like to single out two people in particular," Danny gestures towards the balcony. "A man and a woman to whom we'd like to dedicate tonight's performance."

"FBI Agent Dylan Rhodes," Henley announces. "And the lovely, if somewhat inexperienced, Interpol Agent Alma Dray, everyone." The crowd starts to boo as a spotlight is shown on them.

"Yeah," I look up to the balcony seats, but it's hard to see past the spotlights. "Agent Rhodes has personally vowed to quote 'nail us'," I say.

Merritt adds, "And we encourage him to do so if he has the brains and the fur."

Danny brings the crowd back, saying, "What is magic? Our argument: nothing but targeted deception. So I want you to look," Danny walks to the middle of the stage, where we stand in a line. "Look as closely as possible because the tricks you are about to see may not seem connected, but we assure you, they are. Is what follows one hundred different tricks or is it one giant illusion?"

Then the lights go out. Merritt and I leave the stage. We're not performing the first trick. The only way the audience would know that the tricks were connected was if they could see into the future. We'll use the tricks in tonight's show again to pull more Robin Hood acts later.

I hang out backstage, just listening to Danny, Merritt, or Henley talk and the audience responding. I'm trying to get used to the fact that it'll be my responsibility to keep them entertained. I have to be in charge out there. Here I go.

I take my jacket off backstage and leave it there. Forget that. I casually stroll out to the front of the stage.

"There are two pencils out there," I say, shuffling the deck of cards. I feel surprisingly at ease and play it up. I know how to do this. I've been doing it my whole life. "Hold them up high, let me see them."

Two ladies, one in the second show and one in the eighteenth, stand up and raise the pencil. "Here!" One yells. "Yeah," The other shouts.

"Now, ladies," I warn them, looking up from the deck. "Keep a strong grip on those pencils; can you do that for me? And keep them still. Hold them up as high as you can. Now, I need everyone to countdown with me. Here we go." I position most of the deck in one hand.

"Three, two, one," I count off with them. I let the cards flip out from my hand and fall into a shower in the second row; a card gets impaled by the pencil. It just so happens to be a Jack. I grin at them as they applaud.

I take the one card I have left and throw it. It shoots through the air and slices the pencil in row eighteen. The end of the pencil hits the ground with a clink and the room erupts in applause and cheers. Fruit Ninja has paid off.

"See you guys later!" I wave and exit the stage. I resume my post backstage and return to my listening. A few tricks later and I'm up again, this time with absolute confidence.

I run off the front of the stage and start walking down the middle aisle, yelling, "Okay, okay! I need two volunteers! Let's see."

I find a lady about the same age as my mom near the back row. "Ma'am, you are absolutely stunning. Can I borrow you for one second? Is that okay? Let's get on stage." I help her up, grabbing her scarf with my other hand. She doesn't notice. I lead to towards the stage.

About half way up, I see a man with a blue zip-up sweatshirt and a baseball cap. "How about this man?" I rest my hands on his shoulders and drape the scarf over them. I have to keep talking to keep them distracted, so sometimes I say some weird things.

"With the sweetest face I've ever seen! Let's get you on stage, my man." I help him up, getting his sweatshirt halfway off.

"Alright, I'm going to make some quick adjustments." I quickly slip the lady's necklace off as I take off the man's cap and place it on my head.

"You're about to be on stage in front of thousands of people, I just want you to look your best." I took of the lady's earrings and put the necklace on the man.

"Alright, we're just going to make some last minute fixes." I put one earring in on the man; he had pierced ears, which is why I choose him. I pull off the man's sweatshirt, put it on the lady. Put the other earring in and fix the man's scarf.

"We're almost there." I place the cap on the lady's head.

"Let me take a look. You look damn fine. Alright, ma'am, please climb up on stage to your left. Sir, to your right. I'll meet you in the center; let's have some fun."

I jump the stage in the center. "Gah," I say, throwing my hands up in mock defeat when they climb on stage in each other's accessories. I let out a chuckle. "Let me start off by saying I didn't steal anything, I swear."

I run to grab a microphone and hold it out in front of the woman. "Now, tell me, did you have any idea what I was doing?"

She shrugs. "I thought you were wearing that guy's hat. I just realized that I was wearing his sweatshirt when I got up here."

"Now, my good sir," I put my arm on his shoulder and hold the mic for him. "How does it feel to be wearing women's earrings?" I ask.

He feels his ears and is taken aback to find her earrings in. "Man," He laughs. "I didn't even notice."

"Well, please, return the accessories," I say. "Tonight, you all are going to learn something about pick pocketing. First: you need to keep your mark distracted. That's why I tend to talk a lot. Also, physical contact works for a distraction. Bumping them or helping them up are some fine examples." I look back at my volunteers, now wearing the proper clothing.

"Let's give a round of applause for the volunteers. Now, hopefully, you can recognize the signs of a pickpocket next time you're in the cities."

* * *

At the beginning of the finale, Merritt makes his way to the front of the stage. I watch from backstage. "At the intermission, we asked you to write down your current bank balance and seal it in an envelope. Now it's time to take those envelopes out. Everyone take them out." There's a sound of rustling paper as everyone gets their envelope.

"Now, everybody, shout out your name all at once. Go." There's a roar of noise as everyone yells.

"Clement Frannick?" Merritt asks, dubiously.

"Yeah, up here!" Clement shouts from the balcony and stands up.

"Oh, way up there. Okay. Dina Robertson?"

"That's me!" Dina yells excitedly also from the balcony, taking her stand.

"Okay. Names, let's go." Another roar from the audience. "Josepha Hickey?" Merritt asks.

"That's me," says a woman from the main floor, standing up.

"Josepha, I want you to focus on your balance, and count from one to ten out loud."

"One, two, three, four, five," She counted consistently, but Merritt still interrupted her.

"Stop," Merritt holds up a hand and asks, "Is the first digit five?"

With a bewildered look on her face, she responds, "Yes."

"Do it again, this time faster."

"One, two, three, four, five, six,"

"Stop. Six. Again."

"One, two,"

"Josepha, is your bank balance 562 dollars as of today?" Merritt makes his prediction.

"Yeah. That's what I've got." Josepha shrugs.

"Unfortunately, you're wrong," Merritt accuses. As Josepha looks astonished, Merritt moves on. "Okay, Dina." Merritt puts his hand to his forehead, as if he's psychically getting numbers. "One… Four… Seven…Seven," Merritt finishes.

"Yeah," Dina responds.

"You think it is. But in fact, you, too, are wrong. Now, Clement, you do not have 6,500 dollars in your account. In fact, everybody stand up. Everybody." There are soft murmurs as everyone stands.

"Yeah. Put your envelopes to your forehead. Focus on your number. This is… Oh dear, just as I feared," Merritt draws it out, like he hopes he doesn't have to break the bad news. "Oh, this is strange. You know, I hate to say this, but you're all wrong."

Henley and Danny come back on stage. "Every last one of you is dead wrong about what you think is in your account. Okay, you can sit down now."

Daniel whispers something in Merritt's ear and points to a balcony seat where Art and Jasmine are sitting. He pats him on the back and walks off. "Oh, I almost forgot. This evening would not be possible if it weren't for our great benefactor, Arthur Tressler." Merritt motions with a hand towards the seats and a spotlight shines down. Art waves.

"Big applause!" Danny requests. "Art, actually, why don't you come up on stage for the finale?"

"Come on down, Art," Henley says. Art makes his way down.

"There he goes," Danny says. "Okay, good."

Henley brings Art onto the stage and asks, "Now, Art, did you fill out your envelope? Well, no need. We've done it for you."

That's my cue; I bring out a giant envelope. It's almost as big as me. About three foot by five foot with the Four Horsemen's logo on the front. I hand it off to Henley and Daniel. I immediately return backstage.

"Now, Art," Merritt says. "I took a guess. North of 140, am I right?" Art laughs as Henley opens the envelope and pulls out a large check with his bank balance. "That's 140 million, by the way."

"I'm sorry, Merritt," Henley says. "How can he be right about his bank balance and everyone else be wrong?"

"I think possibly because he, too, is wrong." Art steadily becomes more concerned about his money. "Everybody, take out your paper and using the flashlight under your seat start to warm up that paper. I think your correct balance begins to appear." The dark audience becomes speckled with little lights as they wave the flashlights over the paper.

"Art, don't worry, we have a flashlight for you," Merritt points to me. I'm coming out with a giant flashlight for the giant paper. I lift it up, with some effort, like I'm worried that the audience can't see it. I flip it on and light up the back side of Art's check.

"Look," Danny points out. One of the numbers changes from a seven to a zero.

"What's going on there, Daniel?" Merritt asks.

"Wait. This is weird. A second ago, it said 144, 579, 651, but now it says 70, 000 dollars less."

"Josepha, can you stand up?"

She urgently stands, saying, "Yes?"

"Now, what is your new number?"

"70, 562 dollars now in my account," Josepha responds, overjoyed. The crowd applauds.

Henley points out, "Is it possible that Josepha's balance went up the same amount that Art's went down?"

"Hey, check it out," I say, still waving the light. "It's happening again."

"Is it?" Danny asks, bringing the attention back to the massive check. More numbers fade and reappear as new digits.

"Wow, it is," Henley answers. "Art's balance has gone down another 280K."

Art is getting anxious.

"Dina Robertson? What did yours say?"

"281, 477 dollars," Dina answers, beside herself. That's when I set down the flashlight. Henley and Danny set down the check.

"We have a confession to make," Henley announces.

"She's right," I say. "We lied about something."

"Yes, none of you were chosen at random," Danny confesses.

"All of you have one thing in common." Merritt says.

"Everyone in this room," Henley says. "Was a victim of the hard times that hit one of America's most treasured cities."

"Some of you lost your houses, your cars," Merritt says.

"Your businesses," I add.

"You loved ones," Danny adds. "But all of you were insured by the same company."

We all point to Arthur Tressler and say in unison, "Tressler Insurance." The crowd gets wild with boos and cries.

"You were abandoned," Merritt says.

"You were loop-holed," Henley says.

"Out of your settlements," I finish.

A man from the audience stands up and yells, "Whoa! I've got 82, 000 dollars in my bank account! It says it right here on my cell phone!" Everyone takes out their cell phones to check their bank balance. The crowd gets up and cheers and it's now chaos in here.

Art is furious; I've never seen him like this. It's kind of scary. "Hey," He points to Merritt, yelling, "Did you do this?"

Merritt gives him a weird look.

I come to his defense, saying, "How could we, Art? We don't have your password." I walk to the middle of the stage.

Henley continues, "We'd need access to information we could never get our hands on." She waves her hands, joining me center stage.

"Ah, yes," Danny says, raising his hands to his head like Merritt does. "Security questions, for instance, like, I don't know, your mother's maiden name or the name of your first pet." Danny joins us, fist-bumping me.

"Where would we get that information, Art? You certainly would never tell us," Merritt smirks as he walks past him. Art looks ready to strangle us, but we cuffed his foot to the stage. "Hey, we left you the jet and the Rolls," Merritt shrugs. Art turns around slowly and realizes he's stuck on stage in front of the people he cheated. Truly a nightmare. The audience boos and hollers insults.

I notice Jasmine up on the balcony looking around awkwardly like she wants to leave; no longer a smile on her face. I feel a pang of guilt, but remind myself that it isn't about her; it's her father.

We stand in the middle of the stage. We can see Agent Rhodes running towards the stage yelling something. Then he yells, "Freeze!" That word just so happens to be a trigger word for a hypnotism trick that Merritt did earlier. He told them that when they heard the word, they would be football players and they had to attack the quarterback, who would be the person yelling the word. So, as Agent Rhodes reaches the stage, he's attacked by hypnotized audience members.

Ropes descend from the ceiling above us. Each of us grab it with one hand and wrap a foot in a loop at the bottom. "We are The Four Horsemen," We yell in unison. "Good night!" The ropes rise up into the ceiling and the last thing I see of the theater is a pile of bodies on top of the FBI agent.


	9. The Renegade

We just resisted arrest from an FBI agent. Now we have the FBI on our case. A bunch of other agents monitored our performance from outside. They'll all be after us. Now it's serious. Now we're outlaws, renegades. Cue: Renegade by Styx.

_Oh Mama, I'm in fear for my life from the long arm of the law  
Law man has put an end to my running and I'm so far from my home_

Danny was aware that the FBI would get a hold of the tracker for the tracking bracelets he put on each of us. He plans to use that to our advantage. However, I left my tracker in my jacket backstage.

_Oh Mama, I can hear you a crying, you're so scared and all alone  
Hangman is coming down from the gallows and I don't have very long_

I lead the charge as the four of us run out onto the roof from the theater's fire escape. The four of us split up two and two. Danny and I take one fire escape and I don't see where Merritt and Henley go. Hopefully, they escaped.

_The jig is up, the news is out  
They finally found me_

When Danny and I get down to the alley, Interpol Agent Dray is behind us. We run for the street. Danny tosses me his tracker. Shit, they're going to be tracking me now. Danny takes a left. I take a right. She follows Danny.

_The renegade who had it made  
Retrieved for a bounty_

I get on the street. Now Mardi Gras makes sense. The street is completely crowded with people in bright colors and lights are all around. It's like a 'Where's Waldo?' puzzle. I run into a police officer costume lying on the street. Confused but grateful, I do a quick change into it.

_Never more to go astray  
This'll be the end today_

"I got him heading north on Bourbon," I hear and I find Agent Rhodes, who's tracking me, and slip Danny's tracker into his pocket. I look back, which I normally wouldn't do, but he needs to see my face. With a flash of recognition, he starts chasing me through the crowd. It's thick, so I constantly yell, "Excuse me. Sorry. Move, move!" That's where I lose him.

_Of the wanted man_

_[guitar solo]_


	10. The Papers

It's surprisingly easy to break into a morgue and steal a corpse. I would know because I'm doing that right now. All I had to do to get into this freezing corpse room was wear a white lab coat and pick pocket an access card from a man who was leaving. I wander down the aisles of carts with bodies under blue tarps, looking for a match on one of the identification tags. Each step I take echoes throughout the room. At the end of the row, I find him.

Hello, corpse. John Doe, male, Caucasian, brown hair. He will do fine as my stunt double. John will take my place in that burning car.

I pull the tarp down from his face to see if he looks at all like me. I don't expect what I see. Gasping for air, I take a step back. I recompose myself and cover him up. John's good enough; he has my short brown hair. Can't bring myself to look at his face again; those dead, blank, foggy eyes and pale skin creep me out.

I wheel the cart out of the room and quickly make my way to the emergency exit down at the end of the blank hall. Suddenly, a real mortician rounds a corner and makes his way toward me. I slow down to a normal pace and stare straight ahead, but the man still gives me a strange look. However, he continues on his merry way.

When I reach the door, I only have to use the access card to exit without an alarm sounding, which is a lot simpler than what I'm used to. Danny waits with the getaway car. I collapse the cart and roll it into the back of the van. I climb into the passenger seat, pulling off the coat and putting on my leather jacket.

"Maybe you should wear something else tomorrow," Danny suggests. "I don't want to dress the corpse up in an expensive leather jacket."

"But, you know, I'll probably die wearing this, so it would be appropriate," I respond.

* * *

The next morning we're back in the apartment and I'm more relaxed than I've been for a while. At least until Danny announces that we need to burn everything because we've been found. Then everyone gets tense.

"What? How?" I demand from the couch, where I was snoozing.

"They found the bug in the phone," Danny answers. "Now they're going to track Agent Rhodes' real phone."

"Sorry, what bug?" I ask, sitting up.

"During the interrogation, I traded Agent Rhodes' cell for a bugged one. That's how we know what they're up to. Weren't you listening?" Danny sets the cell phone on the ground and breaks it with his heel. I get up and start the fire in the dining room fireplace with my lighter and some of the paper lying around the room. Man, that's a lot of evidence to burn.

"The firewall's down. Do 'they' know about this?" Henley asks from the computer, where she was reviewing the plan.

"They who?" Danny asks, making a pile of paper.

"'They', 'Them', whoever we're working for," Henley responds irritably.

"Who are we working for? And are we prepared to go to jail for them?" Merritt asks as he gathers up a stack of paper.

"Stop being paranoid," Danny argues.

Merritt's serious for once and says, "It really does happen."

"It happened to you. Doesn't mean it's going to happen to us."

I move some paper on the table and I find my death card unintentionally. My heart sinks as I realize it's finally here. I could die (for real). I could be shot. I could go to jail. The FBI is after us. This isn't a game anymore. It just got serious.

"Guys," I say, trying to calm myself down. "I don't know if I can do this, all right? I don't want to go to jail, you know?"

Daniel stares at me with disbelief and annoyance. "Then don't screw up. You're always talking about wanting to be treated like an adult. Now might be a good time to start acting like one. Stick to the plan." He hands me some paper and pats me on the shoulder. "Stay here and burn it all."

I take the stack over to the fireplace, putting it in gradually, deep in thought.

"I don't know what I'm doing here," Merritt says.

Daniel sneers, "I don't know what you'd be doing anywhere else."

"I'm here for the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow," Merritt rolls his eyes. "That's it. Then I'm gone."

"You can do whatever you want when this is over, Merritt," Henley snarls. "But until then, you stick to the plan."

Daniel peers out the window, peeking through the shades, and his voice softens, "Hey, guys. They're here."

Daniel, Merritt, and Henley leave me without another word with a couple full duffel bags. So much for team. I gather all the remaining paper and try to dispose of it quickly, setting aside one paper that I still need.

I hear the apartment door squeak open as I throw the last bit of paper into the flames in the fireplace. I turn to look behind me. Maybe I am a bit paranoid, but for good reason. I climb on top of one of the tall bookshelves because I remember how no one ever looks up.

Listening hard, I hear two sets of footsteps. I think I can handle two agents, at least for now. The bedroom door bangs open down the hall the same time that Agent Rhodes walks into the dining room, holding his gun in front of him. Rhodes aims it around the room and, spotting nothing, continues to the main room. I slowly and quietly lower myself down to the floor, using the top of the door and the shelf. Across the hall, I watch the second agent enter the kitchen. If I'm going to get out of here, I have to go offense.

Ducking into the kitchen, I grab a wet rag from the sink. I get up behind him. The agent senses something and looks left; I move right. When he looks right, I shove the rag into his mouth, gagging him. He tries shouting. I yank his suit jacket down around his wrists and his gun and I spin it, tangling it. I snatch a cleaning brush to shove his jacket into the garbage disposal as I flip the switch on. It sucks his jacket in. Agent Rhodes will be coming now; that was a lot of noise. Needing a weapon, I struggle to get the agent's belt off.

"Freeze!" I hear from behind me. I get the belt free just as Rhodes enters the room and points his gun at me. I run right at Rhodes, which he clearly doesn't expect, and I whip the belt around his wrists and gun, flipping the gun out of his hands and at the other agent's nuts. I bring the belt up to his chin and snap it tight, knocking his head back. I whap the other agent's face with the belt for good measure. Rhodes grabs my shirt; I grab his and use his force to push him into the fridge. Then I bolt for the dining room because I still need that paper.

"Dylan!" The other agent yells. He must've spit the rag out.

"Hold on!" Agent Rhodes tells him.

I break into a roll under the table in the dining room and stand up on the other side. Oh, bad move. Rhodes pushes the table towards me. I jump on top of the table to avoid being squished and roll. He catches me in both arms and tries to cuff me. I struggle until I twist around and take the cuffs. Without hesitation, I duck down and cuff his leg to a fallen chair. He grabs my wrist; I nab the radio hooked to his belt, pushing him down and backing away.

I stand in front of Agent Rhodes, who is helpless to stop me. I have his radio in my hand. Is he really making it this easy?

Suddenly the radio crackles. I stare at it. "Five is clear, standing by for six," a voice emerges from the speaker.

"You little shit!" Agent Rhodes yells at me with murder in his eyes as he struggles to get the handcuffs off.

"You little shit!" I repeat back to him, enunciating what he does.

"What game you playing?"

"What game you playing?" I mimic. Then, with my best impression of Agent Rhodes, I say into the radio, "We're all good at six, move to seven."

"Move to seven," I hear faintly from the hall and then the thundering of boots up the stairs.

I chuck the radio across the room and into the fire. I take the paper from the floor that I didn't get a chance to burn and tuck it into my jacket. Rhodes goes to grasp a fire poker and I grab some paper, mainly fake Euros. With his leg still cuffed to the chair leg, he advances towards me with the poker.

What Rhodes doesn't know is that I have two instant lighters up my sleeves. I start throwing fireballs at him as fast as I can light the paper without him seeing (which is pretty fast), backing up into the main room. He swings at me with the poker, which I easily dodge.

As he swats at my last fireball, I snatch the poker from him. I hold it out vertically in front of me. Rhodes gives me a look. I toss it straight up into the air; he charges, kicking me in the chest and I fall into a curtain behind me.

As soon as I'm obstructed from his view, he's searching the curtain and I'm hiding around the corner. That's when he sees me in the mirror; he grabs one of Daniel's prop carts and rolls it at my reflection. The glass shatters and he's instantly confused.

I need to get across the room and I'm behind him, so I grip the bar attached to the ceiling above me and use it to swing myself over him. I lose my balance when I hit the ground. Rhodes takes advantage of my fumble and smashes the chair he's cuffed to across my back. I trip and fall. Shit, shit. I look around me for anything I can use as a weapon. A deck of scattered cards? Sure, fine. I gather them up while Rhodes takes the time to get the cuff off his leg with his key. Rhodes gets up and walks over to me, ready to use the cuffs on me. I turn on my back and hold my seemingly empty hands up.

"Whoa, whoa. Hey," I say like I'm giving up. Then I whip out the cards from behind my hand and fan them out in one swift motion and smirk at him.

"Really?" Rhodes comments.

"Yep," I say. I throw the cards at him one at a time as I spring to my feet and back up to the door behind me. The cards cut like knives if you throw them right. Rhodes gets a few cuts on his face, but still approaches. I pass the kitchen and throw a card at the struggling agent.

Rhodes wipes the blood off his face and yells, "You little…" I make a break for it, past the couches and the TV. I wham the door open and I'm in the hall. I race down the stairs, jumping a few at a time with the paper in hand and Agent Rhodes still in pursuit.

I roll up the paper and put it in my mouth. Once I make it a floor down, I jump down the garbage chute in the wall, an emergency exit that Daniel made sure the four of us knew about. I slip down with my hands and feet on the walls to slow my fall. I don't expect Agent Rhodes to follow me, but he does. He doesn't even try to slow down; his body hits me as we land on the mattress at the bottom (Daniel put it there). I'm panting now, my back hurts. As I get up, I notice I lost the paper. Where?

"Give me that!" Rhodes dives for the rolled up paper. I was too disoriented to see it in front of me. I snag it from Rhodes, step on him, and shoot up some maintenance stairs. I take the exit, and now I'm in between two apartment buildings. As I weasel my way through a fence, I glance back. He's still right there!

I take a detour down into a parking garage. As I run past some lockers, I knock over a trash can behind me to slow him. Then I find myself on East Evan Street right in front of two agents. I switch to a casual walk, trying to keep my head down. Maybe they won't notice?

"Hey," One of them says, putting a hand on my shoulder. I twist around and poke him in the eye. Instantly, I put my arms up to block their punches and dodge a couple before I seize their handcuffs. With the same tactics as in pick pocketing, I manage to grab an arm and cuff it to another. I push away the two tangled and rather confused agents.

I dash into their black sedan. They left the keys in. I'm starting it when Agent Rhodes runs onto the street. Pushing down on the gas pedal, I drive away just as he reaches the back of the car. It won't be long until they're onto me again. Reminding myself that I just have to make it to the bridge, I try to breathe.

I swerve around some cars at an intersection and notice a car in pursuit. Interpol Agent Dray is at the wheel with Agent Rhodes beside her. Got to lose them. In a split-second decision, I slip behind a truck backing out. They're not able to follow.

I take another sharp turn and accidentally jump a median, running over some parked bikes. Nearby cars honk their horns as I fly past. I drive right past some police cars with their sirens on. In my rearview, I see them turning around in pursuit. I skid around a pedestrian and a stopped car in the middle of the road.

At this point, I'm very panicky; I can feel the sweat on my neck and face. I almost veer onto a sidewalk. Almost hyperventilating, I try to remember where I'm trying to go. Just get to the bridge, Jack.

I'm almost there; I merge (more like swerve) onto the entrance ramp right in front of more cop cars. Shit. I turn onto the 59th Street Bridge, almost hitting the car on my left. The bridge is two lanes. I bypass several cars. I keep glancing behind me in terror, trying to keep track of where everyone is.

Then I find them. I merge dangerously in front of a yellow taxi, driven by Daniel, and into the right lane. I'm next to a bus driven by Merritt. The bus merges behind me. Now I'm blocked from the view of those behind me. The bus releases a sedan identical to mine from the front trailer and it merges to the left. It's remote-controlled by Henley, who's driving the car in front of it. The black sedan (that they think is me) with John the Corpse inside hits the median and flips multiple times before coming to a stop upside down. The taxi swerves around it as the front end bursts into flames.

I laugh hysterically, relieved it actually worked. I'm alive and in the clear. Now I drive normally…but now I'm legally dead.


	11. The Safe

I drive back to the apartment. I figure it's safe, they won't check it until the next day; they'll be too concerned about the show tonight and the classified Elkorn file found in the burning car. Hopefully someone pulled the papers from the car before it exploded into flames.

The private security contractor called Elkorn has been hiding a ton of money in a vault in a warehouse in Queens. This vault is our final target. Elkorn has been known to skimp out in the quality of their safes by cutting corners and using cheap steel. So, the logical response is to steal their money from their cheap safe in the warehouse.

I turn on the TV and start to pack up the belongings I left here. I also have to make sure there's nothing important for the FBI to find.

Channel 8 News has a helicopter above my accident. It says live in the top corner of the screen. The car is still burning? All I can see is a cloud of smoke and backed up traffic. As the helicopter moves around the wreckage, it becomes easier to see the burning upside-down car. I walk to the other room to grab my sleeping bag and spare clothes while I listen to the TV.

"Today, the unfolding story of a popular and controversial group of magicians who had been fast capturing the public's imagination, took a dark turn when a police action that began in Chinatown developed into a dramatic, high-speed chase across the 59th Street Bridge, which caused a fatal collision that took the life of Jack Wilder, one of the so-called Four Horsemen. The whereabouts of the other three Horsemen remain unknown at this time."

I reenter the room with my clothes over one arm and turn off the TV. It's surprisingly disturbing to hear that I died. I thought I'd be okay, but I don't want to hear it.

After I get my toothbrush from the bathroom, I throw everything that's mine in the suitcase. I pause as it sinks in that I'll never be back here. I can never go back to my old apartment either; the landlord will put it up for rent again. He'll be happy to actually get paid rent. My stuff will get cleared out by my parents or maybe by strangers who'll sell it. I didn't leave anything good in there. Everything I care about is in this suitcase.

I comb over the apartment one last time, starting from the entrance. It's the same entrance I picked open to impress the other three at the beginning. Feels like a lifetime ago.

I walk down the hall; the walls are covered in completed plans for Las Vegas and New Orleans.

I peek into the bedroom. I slept on that couch for most nights over the past year.

I wander down the hall some more to the bathroom. Henley hated that bathroom. It was never clean enough for her.

The dining room is a mess from the fight. Now meaningless paper is scattered across the floor, the chairs knocked over, and ashes from the fireplace sprinkled over it all. The fire's pretty much dead. I scan the table, finding the remaining plans and pocket them. I find my card as well. The death card. I should probably keep that.

The main room is chaos. I look over the debris for anything of worth, coming up with nada.

The kitchen. The sink still has a jacket sticking out of it. I know it's not really funny, but who am I kidding? I trapped an FBI agent in a sink. I smile to myself and leave with my suitcase, sleeping bag, and the papers under my arm.

* * *

I'm waiting in a different car (one that I didn't steal) in the parking lot across from the Elkorn warehouse. This time, I am waiting for the FBI to come and leave. The file they found should lead them to believe that we're going to try something here. Which I will.

This mission requires different attire. I can't have anyone recognize me a few hours after I'm supposed to be deceased, not to mention I'm going to break into a safe, so I'm wearing a dark hooded sweatshirt, welding goggles, and gloves. In the seat beside me, I have a sledge hammer and a blow torch thingy.

There are chain link fences all around this place. The brick building looks like a typical warehouse, but with more security. A security booth stands outside the door. On the other side of that, a couple of large garage doors are framed in yellow caution pattern.

Alone with my thoughts, I recall the other three mentioned making a YouTube video. I bring out my iPad and search 'four horsemen'. First hit: a new video, posted a few minutes ago. I play it.

Henley, Daniel, and Merritt are sitting on a couch somewhere, talking to the camera. Daniel's eyes are red around the edges, like he's been crying.

"We can't ignore what happened," Henley says into the camera. Her voice trembles a bit. "We're no longer the Four Horsemen. If you haven't heard, Jack Wilder was in a car crash earlier today and," She looks at her lap, speaking quieter, but I could still hear every word. "He didn't make it. The car exploded. He had no chance." When Henley looks back up at the camera, her eyes are shiny with tears.

"We just want to say a few words in Jack's memory before our show tonight," Merritt says more monotone than usual. He's not the emotional type.

"Jack was the youngest of us. His life was just getting started. Jack gave our group that youthful energy even though he was asleep most of the time." Daniel chuckles a little without smiling. "Not only that, he was a bit of a peace-keeper. This group didn't always get along, but Jack saw the best in us. I remember the first time we met he was happy just to be accepted alongside us… More than anything in his life, Jack wanted to be the most famous magician who ever lived. And I can't say he achieved it, but I do hope wherever he is, it is full of magic. But the point is… Sorry," Daniel gasps, putting his hand to his mouth. He tries again, "The point is…"

Merritt picks up for him, "The point of why we're here is to say that we are not… We cannot quit now. We've started something bigger than all of us. We have to finish it."

Henley says, "Remember the name Jack Wilder when you see us live, 5 Pointz, Queens, 7 o'clock."

As the video ends, I realize I've been holding my breath. I let it out. It was so real. They all seemed so upset. Almost like they let themselves believe that I'm actually dead.

Distracting myself, I turn on the radio and turn my attention to the brick building. After about fifteen minutes of that, a parade of black vans park on the street. To be safe, I count the men in black suits as they enter the building. A few minutes later, right on schedule, I see a black semi truck leave the compound, with FBI agents in pursuit, which I count again. There's one agent still in there, but I should be okay. Awesome. Now for the fun part.

I put the blow torch equipment in a backpack and swing the hammer over my shoulder. Security is taken care of. They'll be busy worrying about the safe they believe was stolen, just like the FBI. I'm able to just let myself in.

I enter the safe room. I hesitate when I spot the last FBI agent… who's playing an invisible violin. Thank you, Merritt. A subconscious trigger must have been activated. Assuming the hypnotism was triggered only a few minutes ago, I have a good fifteen minutes.

The room is long and a blinding white. Luminescent lights hang from the ceiling, making the room seem even brighter, but there's no safe. However, that's the trick. I take the hammer from my shoulder and swing it away from me, letting it fly into the far end of the room. And the glass mirror covering the second part of the room shatters and falls to the ground in a chorus of clinks. There's the safe.

I step over the broken mirror shards (that's a lot of years of bad luck, good thing I'm not superstitious), taking out the equipment. I trace the safe door with some fluid that erodes the steel. Then I light that with the blow torch and step back as it crackles like a firework. The door falls out in front of me, revealing the largest amount of money I've ever seen.

I throw back the hood and pull the goggles on top of my head. "Holy shit," I say. I give myself a minute to recover from the shock of the quantity. That's a lot of green. I take the folded duffel bags out of the backpack and start shoveling the money in. It takes six duffels, but I finally manage. I pull the hood and goggles back on.

Walking out, I'm using all my strength and balance to carry it all. I have to set everything down to open the trunk of the car. It all fits, but just barely.

Here's the retribution part. I go to 5 Pointz. The Four Horsemen show will just be starting now. Without me. I'm looking for a black Land Rover with a certain license plate number. TNQ-8930. I drive around for a while before I find it in a parking garage, right next to the exit. It's Thaddeus Bradley's Land Rover. I park next to it. I carefully pick the driver's door without tripping the alarm. One bag at a time, I empty the money inside, ripping the bundles apart so it'll all fall out when the doors open. I also rig the car to open all doors when the car's unlocked by remote. It's going to be so awesome.

Unfortunately, none of this brilliance was my idea. The Eye again. Bradley's good and framed for this one and no one will suspect a dead man. But, that was the last of it. "They" haven't given me any other instructions but to go to Central Park tonight.

The final Four Horsemen show is still happening. I can't actually show up, so I decide to park the car somewhere else to watch the news on my iPad. Every news station seems to have covered the show. On Channel 8, it's on live.

I can tell they're about halfway into the show. 5 Pointz is just this old three-story building covered in graffiti. Projections have been set up around the walls, seemingly warping the side of the building with shifting squares and our symbol. The overall effect looks really cool. The crowd is all around the building and on top of it. Suddenly a platform on the roof lights up and I hear Henley's voice.

"Hello, New York!"

The Three Horsemen walk out from the bright light and wave.

Henley smiles at the audience and says, "Thank you for the magic and thank you for being such an incredible and dedicated audience. Unfortunately, like all good things, it must come to an end."

"And so, we would like to start our show tonight…" Daniel says.

"…By saying goodbye," Merritt finishes.

"All we wanted was to bring the world to a magic show," Henley says.

"And thereby bring a little magic back to the world," Daniel states. The three of them join hands. The light behind them flashes bright and then they're gone.

The platform on the other side of the roof lights up and Merritt's voice rises over the cheers of the crowd.

"This has been one hell of a ride for all of us, but it's time for us to disappear."

"Good night, New York," Daniel says.

"And thank you for believing in us," Merritt adds.

They all run for the edge of the roof and as soon as they make the jump, it looks as though they transform into money. The green bills fall from the sky and the crowd goes crazy for them.

The screen flips back to the newscaster. She turns away from the building and smiles at the camera.

"It seems as though that is the end of the Four Horsemen. Even though it's clearly an ending, we'll forever have the myth and mystery of their shows." A cameraman hands her a couple bills and she looks at them.

"These are quite the souvenirs," She holds them up to the camera. It looked just like a hundred dollar bill, but where the president's face should've been, was Merritt's. She flipped through them each. Henley, Daniel, and me. Cool.

"Each bill has a Horseman on it," She puts them in her pocket and says, "This has been some night. Let's go back -" I turn it off.

And I go to get me one of those.


	12. The Carousel

Central Park at night is a lot creepier than I thought it'd be. Everything's in shadow and the statues seem to stare at me. I'm sitting on a park bench, looking at the gate with a C inscribed on one and a P on the other. It's part of a fortress-like brick wall. The only thing that keeps the gate closed is a padlock on a chain. I just climbed the fence, which was easier than picking the lock.

I freeze when I hear a group approaching with footsteps and soft voices. It's the Three Horsemen coming to the gate. Henley inspects the chain.

"It's locked," Henley states like she's admitting defeat. She shines her flashlight around, looking for another way in. Daniel surveys the padlock.

Clearly, they don't see me here. I get up and walk towards them. "Weren't you listening?" I ask. "Nothing's ever locked." Daniel and Henley shine their lights at me. I smile at seeing their faces for the first time (in real life) since I died. Merritt chuckles at my sudden appearance.

"Well done, Mr. Wilder! Good work." Henley says, clapping for me. Smirking, I laugh at her enthusiasm and pick the lock.

"You're a big boy now, Jack," Merritt says. I pull the chain off the gate, letting it fall to the ground.

Now it's the question of why we're here and who we were working for all this time. Taking out my flashlight, the four of us walk down a path, not sure what we're looking for. In the distance, behind some foliage, I see a carousel. Maybe that's where we're supposed to go? In front of the group, I continue toward it.

"What if all of this was just leading up to us getting mugged in Central Park at 2 am?" I hear Merritt ask from behind me.

"No," Daniel counters. "I'm telling you we're right where we need to be. We just have to find…"

"That?" Henley asks. I stop walking and spin around. She's shining her flashlight on a tree that I passed right by.

"The Lionel Shrike tree," Daniel observes.

"And the card encased in glass," Henley adds.

Henley's light aluminates a knot in the trunk covered with a sheet of glass and, behind it, a signed playing card. A plaque on the bench underneath read 'Lionel Shrike'. He was a legendary magician. This tree was a shrine to one of his best tricks. When Lionel Shrike was first getting started, he had a guy sign a card. Then, about twenty years later, at the same guy's retirement party, he had him pick the same card and sign it. And by magic, it's in the tree. It was in the tree that whole time.

Lionel Shrike was one of the many magicians destroyed by Thaddeus Bradley. After Bradley revealed all his tricks in a special, Shrike tried to stage a comeback by locking himself in a safe and sinking it in the East River. The trick failed and he never came out. No one knows what went wrong. No one could find the safe afterwards, either.

Now, I think I understand what the Eye is. Sure, the Eye is a secret organization dedicated to keeping the secrets of real magic. At first, this seemed illogical to me, but now it makes sense. The Eye tries to prevent magicians from being ruined like Shrike. They try to protect the secrets for how magic works; so that it can still be used as entertainment.

"What do we do now?" Merritt asks.

Henley takes out her card. We all follow her lead, stacking them on top of hers. 'High Priestess', 'Lover', 'Hermit', and 'Death'. The cards combine and morph into an image of an eye. Henley takes it and waves it over the card in the tree.

Suddenly, the carousel behind us lights up and jovial carnival music plays. I immediately head off towards it; I had a feeling about that old place. The carousel's in a white gazebo, with orange and red stain glass adorning the walls. As we get closer, I can see the silhouette in front of the entrance to the carousel.

"Oh my God," Merritt says. I look at the shadow, trying to see his face. Holy shit. It's Agent Rhodes. He's part of the Eye?

"I did not see that coming," Merritt remarks, pointing at him. "That's impossible!"

"No way," I say. Noticing that my mouth is slightly open, I close it.

"That was actually pretty good," Daniel admits slowly. Now we're standing in front of the brilliant mastermind.

"Thank you," Rhodes says. That can't be his real name. He can't really be an FBI agent, can he? Who is he really?

"When I said to always be the smartest guy in the room…," Daniel awkwardly starts, probably referring back to the interrogation.

Rhodes smiles, "We were in agreement."

Daniel looks relieved and a little ashamed. "Okay. Right."

Henley takes a step forward, like she wants to say something, but doesn't have the words.

"I've never seen her speechless," Daniel informs Rhodes in bewilderment.

"I take that as a huge compliment," Rhodes nods.

This was the man I insulted during the second show, left to be pummeled by the audience, planted with Daniel's tracker during Mardi Gras, and the man I beat up in his own apartment. Oh, damn. This guy…

"Hey, man, I'm so sorry for kicking your ass," I beg sincerely. "Really." Rhodes dismisses my apology with a chuckle.

Merritt cuts in. "Listen, for the record, I have always been a one hundred percent believer."

I scoff at that, but Merritt's not done.

"And the amount of energy I have expended to keep these infidels on point…" Henley hits his arm, laughing.

"Merritt, you're in," Rhodes confirms.

"God bless," Merritt says sarcastically.

"Come," Rhodes says and leads us to the gazebo. "The real magic is taking four strong solo acts and making them all work together. And that's exactly what you did."

Inside of the gazebo, the carousel runs, the brightly-colored horses make their circles around the column. The whole thing is lit up. Amazing.

"So, welcome. Welcome to the Eye." Rhodes backs through the admission bar and leaps onto the carousel, disappearing after the ride takes its turn. We all jump the fence. I jump onto the carousel first, Merritt right after_. _Now you see me, now you don't.

* * *

Rhodes revealed himself as Lionel Shrike's son. He explained why he targeted the people he did. His father was ruined by Thaddeus Bradley. The safe that Shrike locked himself in was a cheap Elkorn safe, which warped with the water pressure, making escape impossible. The insurer who denied the family's claim was Tressler Insurance. The bank that carried the note was Credit Republican of Paris.

After his explanation, he asked us each what we wanted, Wizard of Oz style. I got enough fame. I got enough adventure. If I was being honest, I wanted the money I was promised. It sounds materialistic, but it'll prove I can make it. I can be a success.

* * *

My heart is pounding as I open the iron gate to the red row house. I'm unsure of how they'll react. They could be grateful that I'm not dead or angry that I deceived them.

It's my house. My family. I haven't seen them in forever. I take my time climbing the stairs to the door, sliding my hand up the railing as I go. I find myself in front of the old oak door. I stare at it, trying to will myself to move.

They could be proud of me for my success or they could loathe me for breaking the law.

I knock three times and stare at the peephole, trying to stay calm. I hear footsteps rush towards me and the door swings open. Mom. She stares at my face in shock and I shift my gaze to the ground because I can't look at her anymore. She doesn't believe what she sees. I don't either. After a few seconds, she embraces me, holding me tight to her. It's okay now. She won't lose me again.

"Jack," She whispers.

"Mom?" I hear a voice ask. I look up and I see Ben stopped in the hall with wide eyes.

Mom takes my wrist in a death grip and pulls me inside. "Kevin!" She yells for Dad before pushing me into the couch in the living room. Ben follows, not looking any less surprised.

"You better have a good reason! We thought you were dead," Mom says, now wearing a frown, standing in front of me with her arms crossed. Dad enters, stops, and smiles.

"Jack's home," He says, grinning. He nudges his wife, "Told you."

For the first time since I got here, I find words, "You knew?"

"Yeah, I knew. If you hadn't written that note, though…" Dad says.

Mom looks near hysterical, but that's kind of normal for her. "That note could have been a suicide note!"

"It might've been if it wasn't so optimistic," Dad replies.

"It said goodbye," Mom says.

"It was more a goodbye for now," Dad says.

"That's not only what I'm here about," I say, pulling the paper out of my messenger bag. "Here's something even better." I hand it to Mom and she puts her hand to her mouth. She looks at me with astonishment and then hands it to Dad. Ben peeks at it in Dad's hands.

"I finally made some money."


End file.
